The Old Worcester Jug by Eglanton Thorne

JOHN GRIFFIN'S illness was not to end in death. At his next visit the doctor saw a slight improvement in his patient's condition. The favourable symptoms continued, and in a few days Dr. Thornton, much to his satisfaction, could pronounce the old man out of danger.

Mrs. Griffin's joy at thus being relieved from her terrible dread was unbounded. She overwhelmed her husband with tokens of her affectionate solicitude; and though she was often repaid with scant thanks or impatient words, and found old Griffin in his time of convalescence more irritable and difficult to please than she had ever known him, she took his crossness in very good part. It was but natural, she argued, that, after all he had endured, he should be rather fractious, when he at last began to get well. Griffin was not the first man who had found the slow, tedious process of recovering health and strength more trying to his patience than the acute suffering which had preceded it.

How was it now with John Griffin's vow to befriend little Maggie? Did he forget it, as so many forget the resolutions made in sickness, when the dreaded stroke is removed and the blessing of health restored to them? No, he did not forget it; it abode in his mind as a resolve to be carried out when he was strong and well again, and found a convenient time in which to attend to it. But his conscience did not trouble him so keenly concerning the purchase of the Worcester jug, now that death, which seemed so near, had again receded into the distance.

Still, Griffin truly meant to make inquiries about Maggie, and to do what he could to make reparation to her for the wrong done to her mother, only in his present weak and languid state he did not feel that he could hurry himself about it. He shrank from speaking to his wife on the subject. He fancied that she would not understand his remorse concerning the good bargain he had made, and that she would wonder at his taking such interest in a child of whom they knew nothing.

So he said not a word about little Maggie, though he kept wishing that his wife would mention her again. He would have liked to know if she had heard any more of the child. Yet he did not put any questions which could draw forth the information he desired; and, little guessing what was in his mind, Mrs. Griffin said nothing on the subject for some time.

But though she was silent concerning her, Mrs. Griffin had not forgotten the little orphan. The child had indeed passed from her mind during the worst days of her husband's illness, when his state demanded her utmost care and attention. But as soon as he began to mend, and became less dependent on her, her heart, set free from its painful suspense, had leisure to dwell upon little Maggie, and wonder how she was faring. She said nothing to her husband about the child, for the simple reason that she did not wish to recall to his mind his business affairs, for she saw that Griffin was disposed to fret and worry over the loss of trade which resulted from his illness. He had always managed his shop without aid, save such as his wife could give him. A jealous dislike to teaching any one the secrets of his trade had kept him from taking an apprentice.

So, whilst he had been laid aside, the business had been almost at a stand-still, except so far as his wife's interposition had been able to meet the customers' requirements. John Griffin felt an eager longing to get back to his shop again. He was sure that things must be getting into a terrible muddle there, and feared that some of his treasures might get broken during his absence. But Dr. Thornton laid such stress on his taking care, and not exposing himself to cold, that the old man dared not hurry out of his sick room.

Mrs. Griffin was hoping from day to day that little Maggie would come again as she had promised. But she did not come, and Mrs. Griffin began to fear that the child was already lodged in the workhouse. She longed to put on her bonnet, and slip round to Mrs. Cook's lodgings to make inquiries about Maggie; but she could not get away from home even to go that short distance. It was impossible to leave the shop in the day-time, and towards evening Griffin usually grew so weary and fretful that he could not bear his wife to be out of his sight for five minutes.

Thus it happened that, without their exchanging a word on the subject, similar thoughts were often passing through the minds of husband and wife. At last, however, they came to an understanding.

It was a Sunday evening, and Mrs. Griffin was free from all cares respecting the shop. Griffin had taken a fresh start on the road towards recovery. He had come downstairs for the first time, and was sitting in an arm-chair by the fire, having just partaken with good appetite of a meal of tea, bread and butter, and salted herring. He was looking more like himself, as his wife told him, than she had seen him look for many a day, and some of the bright content which had returned to his countenance was reflected on hers as she sat and watched him. She really might leave him now in safety for a few minutes, if only he would not think her unkind for proposing such a thing.

"John," said Mrs. Griffin, suddenly, "Thursday will be Christmas Day!"

"So it will," returned he; "dear, dear, what a long time I've been ill. It's quite time I got about to look into things again."

"You'll soon be able to now, I hope," said his wife, brightly; then, feeling that there was no longer any need to keep silence, she added, "I do wonder what sort of a Christmas that poor dear child will spend. Did I ever tell you, John, about her bringing her mother's books for us to keep for her?"

"What child do you mean? " asked her husband, though he fancied he knew.

"Why, you know," returned Mrs. Griffin, "the dear little girl who brought the plates, and said that her mother was dead, and that she was going to be sent to the workhouse."

"Yes, I remember," he said, shortly; "but what about her mother's books?"